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Array
(
[sid] => 79605
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => a new poem
[time] => 2005-01-12 16:09:21
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => Clearly a new poem is willing to be sacrificed for the starched sweater, laid before my bed frame in a questionable postion. A sexual position? No. Where has this thought stream taken me? Farther down the day drained stream, with branches braiking on pointed rocks, this branch sways slightly through this current. A beautiful exercise in precision, how it sleeps, and later awakens farther down, and bumps sideways into mud clumps. The tip is under water now, but resurfaces, laughing as you thought it had drowned. It is tremendous the amount of energy that flows through one current stream. If feels real. It stops suddenly as you look away and fix your ideas, like beavers fix dams, on hot springs, like a tea cup with lemonade. I'll sit in the shade and pick petals off of flowers and wonder if I am loved. Feel free to slip by my fingers next time. You might touch the right spot if you stop and breathe for a moment. It always feels wet..........the thought stream that is. Your imagination is deceitful. Don't trust your ears, or your eyes. They will split in two. Wait, they already are two pieces, two singularities, fighting for one presence, a mind frame statement, framed on the frontal lobe inside your forehead. I prefer the blue. It contrasts the grey brain skin, better than green. This will be your door frame and when I need a glass of water, I will knock gently and ask quietly. I will be a good son and a good example. I will slump the ground with a little, timed fix. I will pay you money. The next doorway will present itself inside window washing fluid. Travelers find these old wrinkled receits. Tools that are guides to truth. Receits! 10% discounts. I want them all. Some agents have managed to trip down the new fangled building blocks, split habits, mundane refrigerators, these slopped fuzz buzzards squack in the living room at 5am. The road less traveled leads you beside dream homes, westward won, manifest destiny, log cabins beside the river bed. Flooding, warming, sing song charitites, Flow westward gates, New spring gates, leavel headed hipsters. I've fallen onto my feet. I am standing. I've fallen to a standing position. Space held close. Several meanings are apparent. All underlie a madness of oppression, wait, it underlies the underlaid, maid, sweet soft chucks dinner for two, slow metabolized beef, a perfect date. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 162 [topic] => 43 [informant] => zenmind [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => oops )
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